I'm slightly disturbed by this:
Who's Your 80s Movie Icon Alter-Ego? Find out @ She's Crafty
Does that mean I'm gay and in the closet, going from beard to beard?
Or maybe I just like to dance around in my underwear? Yeah!!!
*~*
Went for dinner with friends from my first job out of school. I can't believe what a baby I was. I was a CHILD, all of 22 living in this big city! I can't believe I did that!
They all have partygirl stories. Story after story after story. It was like a wake, except I was there.
Their favorite though, was what they call "the 'Nam" story.
Back was I was a fresh faced publicist, I had this client. Like the most boring client you could ever have. And I mean ever.
So they had this trade show, and to increase traffic at their booth, we decided to invite schools to bring classes for a field trip.
Now this is in New York City. And I love kids. So I'm thinking this is a piece of cake. I line up several schools to bring 3rd and 4th graders all day to the show. Permissions slips, insurance, everything.
There I am, 22-years-old, fresh faced and in my suit and stockings and heels, waiting with a smile as the buses pull up and unload the classes. Huge classes of children.
I imagined I would be like the museum tour guide when I was a kid. We all used to be so excited to be on a field trip, we would walk in straight lines and enthusiastically listen to the guide. Perfect little angels.
Little did I know.
The moment they stepped off the bus, the chaperones took off to smoke jays with the bus driver behind the building and I was left with 100 or so kids. In the Javits Center. Possibly one of the largest places on this earth. Oh yes.
And do you *know* about NYC school children? They're animals. Savages. More ruthless than the Viet Cong. They eat adults alive for SNACKS. Snacks, I tell you.
At one point, as I tried to count the group for the 1,256,578 time, one of the kids came flying around the corner of an exhibit and I grabbed the kid by his coat collar and screamed, "FREEZE! WHO DO YOU BELONG TO!?!?"
Oh but I did.
At the end of the day, I apparently came back to the office. My hair was standing up like a blonde afro on one side of my head, my shirtail was untucked on one side, wrinkled and hanging over my skirt. My stockings were ripped up both legs and I was barefoot, carrying one shoe - missing a heel.
I walked in, sat down, looked at the everyone in the agency, and said:
"Never."
"Never in my life..."
"Never again."
*~*
There was another story that I also enjoy. Clinton's motorcade was coming down Sixth Avenue, which my office faced. I think he was meeting Arafat and some Israeli.
Secret Service everywhere. Snipers on rooftops. Serious shit.
SOMEONE in the office, jokingly dared me to lean out of our window holding our broomstick like a rifle.
SWEAR TO GOD.
So I think this is hilarious. I mean, I LIKE Clinton, but I think it's hilarious. So I do it.
Oh yes, I do it.
No sooner do I lean out of the window with the broomstick propped on my shoulder does the CFO RUN in, grab me by the shoulders and throw me down on the ground.
That's when I found out about the snipers.
What the hell do I know? I grew up in Pennsylvania, for Chrissakes.
This is what I mean when I say that I can't believe my parents let me move here at 22.
And these instances? Just the tip of the iceberg my friends. Tip of the iceberg.
This will be revisited in future entries.
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